Rose's Sense
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: Following the sinking of the Titanic, Rose finds herself isolated from the people around her.
1. Prologue

Prologue

April 15, 1912

North Atlantic

"Rose, wake up. A boat's coming." Jack shook Rose's hand, willing her to open her eyes.

Rose lay on the board, only half-hearing him. She was so cold—she had never been so cold. What was he saying? Something about a boat.

She half-opened her eyes, struggling to turn her head towards him. Almost too weak to say a word, she whispered, "A...boat?"

"A rescue boat." Jack had been ready to give up hope, but the sight of the lifeboat making its way amongst the sinking victims had returned his optimism.

He tried calling out, but his voice was to faint to be heard, the boat too far away. He looked back at Rose.

"There's a whistle over there. I'm going to get it and try to attract their attention. Do you think you can swim?"

Rose looked at him dully. Her limbs were almost too frozen to move; her whole world seemed comprised of the cold and the darkness. Why should she even try?

"I'll be back in a moment," he told her, trying to pull his hand away. It was frozen to hers. Quickly, he breathed on their hands, melting the ice a little, then broke them apart. He swam in the direction of the dead officer, leaving Rose on the board.

Rose stared up at the sky. A shooting star flashed overhead. She had heard once that a shooting star was a soul going to heaven. Whose soul? she wondered vaguely. There must be a thousand souls or more going to heaven this night.

A whistle sounded across the open sea. The boat halted, lights shining in their direction. "Come about!" someone shouted.

A few moments later the rescue boat reached them. They helped Jack into the boat; then, at his direction, turned toward Rose.

She tried to move from the board, but was too weak. The last thing she remembered was being lifted into the boat before the world went black.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

April 15, 1912

Carpathia

The lifeboat was rowed up to the side of the Carpathia. Rose sat up, watching, as several people climbed up a ladder onto the ship. Others, less strong or in worse condition, were lifted onto the ship in a sling-like device.

When her turn came, she made her way up the ladder. When she was on board the ship, she turned to watch as the other passengers came aboard, Jack among them.

Jack was in bad shape. He tried to climb the ladder, but after he nearly fell, he was placed in the sling and lifted onto the ship.

When he reached the deck, he leaned against the railing, shivering and staring out to sea. Rose stood beside him and put her arms around him, trying to warm him, but it didn't seem to help. The chill went too deep.

A moment later, a steward approached them and spoke to Jack, pointing him in the direction of the ship's hospital. He nodded and stepped away from the railing, Rose trying to support him.

He got about ten feet before he collapsed. Rose fell to her knees beside him as he tried to get to his feet.

The steward returned, and, with the help of a Carpathia passenger, picked him up and carried him toward the hospital. Rose hurried after them.

At the hospital, they set him down on a cot, covered him with three blankets, and alerted the doctor to his presence before leaving. Rose sat beside him and put her hand on his forehead. His skin was like ice.

The doctor came by a few minutes later. After examining Jack, he diagnosed hypothermia and exhaustion, and instructed him to stay where he was, drink plenty of hot liquids, and get some sleep.

A nurse brought Jack another blanket and a cup of tea. After drinking the tea, he set the cup aside, nearly dropping it in Rose's lap, and lay down. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Rose set the cup aside and pulled the blankets up farther around his shoulders. He was still shivering. She thought about finding another blanket for him, but changed her mind when the shivering gradually stopped as the blankets warmed him.

She sat beside him, watching him sleep. He had not spoken since they were rescued a few hours earlier. Half-frozen and exhausted, neither had said a word since the lifeboat had picked them up.

Rose settled back in her chair, closing her eyes.

*****

About an hour later, Rose sat up abruptly as someone walked into the room, looking around and speaking loudly.

Turning to look at the speaker, she recognized Cal. He was arguing with the nurse, insisting that he be allowed to look around.

Rose sat frozen in place as Cal began walking around the room. She thought about sneaking away, but had no intention of leaving Jack to Cal's tender mercies. He was in no shape to fight Cal off, and Rose had no doubt that Cal was capable of coming up with another devious plan to get rid of him. One of Jack's hands lay atop the blankets, the severed handcuff still in place, reminding her of what Cal had attempted the night before.

When Cal reached them, he barely looked at her, but instead stood staring at Jack, glowering. Abruptly, he turned and walked away. Surprised, Rose looked at Jack again, then got up and followed Cal.

She wasn't sure what Cal had in mind, but she was certain it involved getting her back. If she went back with him for now, she could rejoin Jack later, after she had thought of a way to avoid her fiancé.

Cal was outside, talking to an officer, when Rose caught up to him. She only heard the last few words.

"...found her," the officer was saying. Cal nodded and turned away. Rose followed him, scurrying to keep up, as he headed back toward first class.

Rose followed him to a first class stateroom. Inside, Ruth was sitting on a stiff, straight-backed couch, crying. Rose stared at her in surprise. Her mother never let her emotions show in front of others. Even when Rose's father had died, Ruth had maintained a calm, dignified expression until she was alone. The sinking must have traumatized her.

Cal walked over to Ruth and spoke to her in a voice too low for Rose to hear. Ruth looked hopeful for a moment, then resumed crying. Cal shook his head and walked away, shutting the door behind him.

"Mother, I'm here." Rose sat down next to her. "What did he say to you?"

Ruth didn't reply. She continued crying, rocking herself slightly. Rose asked the question again, but still Ruth did not respond. Rose finally gave up and put an arm around her mother, trying to comfort her.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

June 1912

Philadelphia

Rose stood in front of her vanity, putting the final touches on her hairdo. She heard the doorbell ring downstairs and sighed. It must be Cal.

When they had been on the Carpathia, Rose had waited impatiently for a chance to escape and find Jack. The opportunity had never come, however, because Ruth, still traumatized by the sinking, had refused to leave her room, and Rose had realized that she would not be able to leave without raising questions. Neither Ruth nor Cal had had much to say to her, but she didn't want to push her luck.

When the ship had docked, Rose had left with them. She had spotted Jack in the crowd, but had been unable to attract his attention. Then she had been whisked off in a carriage, and then a train, back to Philadelphia. She hadn't seen Jack since.

Cal had come to visit a few times, though less frequently as time passed. Rose had sat silently throughout his visits, and he hadn't seemed particularly inclined to talk to her either. Rose had taken every opportunity to slip away, and most times Cal had just spoken to Ruth, both of them very uncomfortable. He had spoken of the wedding a few times, but hadn't pushed the issue. Rose had been grateful. She had no idea where Jack was, but she had no intention of marrying Cal.

Rose heard the door open, and a maid's voice echoed through the house. A moment later, Rose heard Ruth greeting Cal. Their voices were tense.

Reluctantly, Rose moved down the stairs. Cal and Ruth were in the parlor, discussing something. Quietly, Rose went inside.

Cal was speaking to Ruth in a quiet but firm voice.

"This has gone on long enough, Ruth. With no wedding in the offing, we cannot continue to support you. Rose made her decision when she chose to run off with that gutter rat. We've been taking care of you since the sinking, but enough is enough."

Ruth started to speak, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

Cal cut her off. "Despite what you may believe, the Hockleys are not without honor. We have paid your debts for you, and I have a check for five hundred thousand dollars in your name. If you invest carefully and spend wisely, it should be enough to last you the rest of your life." He pulled the check from his pocket and handed it to her. His eyes were cold. "We have no obligation to you, so you should be grateful that we have given you anything." He walked out of the parlor, not even glancing at Rose.

Rose was ecstatic at first, but her joy faded when she saw the shocked, devastated look on her mother's face. Ruth had enjoyed being a member of high society, and this turn of events had insured that, although she was well-provided for, she would no longer be a member. Her lack of funds and the Hockleys' contempt had sealed her fate.

Rose approached Ruth slowly. "Mother..."

Ruth didn't look at her. Hands shaking, she set the check on the table, trying to compose herself.

"I hope you're happy, Rose. I arranged that match for the benefit of all. Now look at what the DeWitt Bukaters have been reduced to. You could have had a good life with Cal. Instead, you chose to take up with that nobody from steerage. A pity he didn't die, too."

"Mother!" Rose stalked toward her, angry. "Do you have any idea what Cal was capable of?"

Ruth didn't listen. She hunched forward, wrapping her arms around herself, as though to protect herself from a blow. Slowly, she picked up the check and rang for a maid.

"Please have the car brought around. I need to run some errands."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ruth sat down, still staring at the check. "God damn you, Jack Dawson."

Rose was shocked, not just by her mother's language, but by the despair in her mother's voice. Still, Ruth was a strong, resilient woman. She would survive, one way or another.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

August 1912

Philadelphia

Rose was right. Ruth did survive, although their relationship had deteriorated to the point that they never spoke to each other, and avoided each other whenever possible, to the point that they did not even take meals together. Rose was disturbed by this, but kept her peace. Her mother had been distant since the sinking, and Rose could only assume that her bitterness over Rose's relationship with Jack was responsible.

Still, Rose enjoyed a sort of freedom that she had never had before. Ruth had let all but one of the servants go, so there was no one to watch where Rose went. Rose wandered freely through the city, visiting museums, parks, and libraries. No longer burdened by the strictures of the upper class, she pursued her own interests, exploring at will and keeping whatever hours she wanted.

Despite her newfound freedom, however, she was often lonely. Few people paid much attention to her, and without money, she could not visit any of the places she had frequented before. None of her old acquaintances contacted her, and she would have had little in common with them if she had. The servants that she had once known were gone, scattered to other employers, and Rose's life, in spite of her freedom, was largely devoid of human interaction.

There was one exception to this, however. Mabel, the servant that Ruth had retained, was friendly toward Rose, often engaging in long conversations after Ruth had retired for the night. Mabel worked hard, doing the cooking, cleaning, and acting as a ladies' maid, which was why Ruth had kept her on. There was little time to talk during the day, but at night they often chatted over a cup of tea. Rose valued Mabel's friendship, despite Mabel's rather flighty nature.

Mabel was sixteen years old, and usually a steady, easy-going girl, but Rose also noticed a tendency to jump at shadows, and had on one occasion witnessed Mabel standing in the front yard carrying on an intense conversation with herself. Mabel regarded both Ruth and Rose nervously, and would jump up with a guilty look on her face if Ruth entered the room while she was talking to Rose. Rose wondered if she had been forbidden to talk to her, but Ruth never said anything, just got what she was after and left.

Sometimes on Sunday afternoons Rose and Mabel would walk through downtown Philadelphia, window-shopping or walking in a park. Mabel was unusually quiet on these days, and more inclined than ever to jump at shadows. Once she shouted loudly at someone visible only to her, and Rose began to question her friend's sanity. She wondered what Dr. Freud would have thought of Mabel.

One Sunday afternoon late in August, Rose and Mabel were walking through a park in a middle class part of the city. There was an art show going on, and Rose was intrigued.

Walking through the displays, Rose observed that they were from local artists. Much of the work was amateur, but a few works looked professional. Rose slowed when she reached a row of drawings.

There were pictures of all sorts of different things, but Rose honed in on the drawings of people. It was unlikely, of course, that Jack was in Philadelphia, but she couldn't help hoping. And then, at the end of the row, she saw them.

A series of drawings of ordinary people, but they looked extraordinary when rendered by this artist. She examined them closely, noting the signature in the corner of each drawing: JD.

Rose would recognize this work anywhere. As she looked at the last drawing, she recognized the Titanic. Two figures stood at the bow, flying as they had that last evening.

Jack _was_ in Philadelphia. The only problem was finding him.

Rose looked around. Most of the artists whose work was on display were present; it was likely that Jack was too. She pointed out the drawings to Mabel.

"He's here! I know it! Now I just have to find him."

Mabel hesitated, looking at Rose with an expression that she did not understand. Finally, she nodded, almost to herself. "Go ahead."

Rose hurried through the crowd, searching. She was almost ready to give up when she saw him.

Jack was standing under a tree a little way away from the crowd, talking to a middle-aged man in a suit. He was looking through his portfolio, pulling out an occasional drawing to show him. The man looked over the drawings critically, nodding his head. He said something to Jack that Rose couldn't hear. Jack looked hesitant for a moment, then shook his head. Rose moved closer, curious. The man pulled out a business card and handed it to Jack.

Rose heard only the end of the conversation. "The offer's open any time," the businessman said, walking away. Jack looked at the card and tucked it inside his portfolio for safekeeping.

Rose walked toward him, suddenly nervous. She hadn't seen him since she had left with Cal four months earlier. A lot had changed since then. Mabel followed her.

"Jack!" Rose called, but he was already disappearing into the crowd. She hurried after him. Mabel rushed after her, the odd expression still on her face.

Rose followed Jack to where his drawings were hanging—just as a pretty dark-haired girl stepped from the crowd and hurried toward him. Jack showed her the business card and she grinned and threw her arms around him. Jack hugged her back, but his mind was obviously elsewhere.

Rose stopped, staring at them in shock, her mouth hanging open. Mabel came up beside her.

"That...that dirty, two-timing gutter rat!" Rose was almost at a loss for words.

"You couldn't expect him to wait for someone who married somebody else."

"But I didn't marry Cal!"

"Does he know that?"

"He should! It was undoubtedly in the society column."

"Maybe he doesn't read the society column." Mabel looked at her pityingly, still wearing the odd expression from earlier. "Leave it alone, Rose."

Her last words had been audible to Jack and the girl. Jack looked at Mabel, startled. Mabel smiled sheepishly and steered Rose away from the scene.

Rose was still angry. "He could have at least contacted me!"

"Maybe he didn't know how."

Rose whirled around, glowering at her. "What do you mean, maybe he didn't know how? We have a telephone, and he's perfectly capable of writing a letter!"

"Would anyone have told you if he had?"

"Probably not," Rose admitted. "Mother doesn't like him." She brightened. "Maybe he did try to contact me and I just never knew it!"

Mabel shook her head. "Rose, don't. You saw him in the park; he's with that other girl now. You need to leave it alone."

"No, I..." She trailed off, realizing the wisdom of Mabel's words. Jack had seen her, and had made no move to approach her or even acknowledge her presence. She should have found a way of contacting him on the Carpathia. There was nothing she could do now.

"You're right," she admitted, not seeing the relieved look on Mabel's face. Jack had moved on with life; it was time for her to do the same.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

October 1912

Philadelphia

Despite her promise to herself to go on with life, Rose found herself drawn to the park where she had seen Jack. She knew she should stay away from him, let him live his own life, but she felt that things weren't quite finished between them.

She saw him there on a few occasions, sometimes with the dark-haired girl, sometimes alone. She saw him sitting on a bench drawing a few times, but did not approach him.

Still, the fact that he seemed to have completely forgotten her grated on her nerves. She had thought they had something special, but he had never made any attempt to contact her. She was certain that he had seen her a few times in the park, but he had never approached her. Obviously, what they had had didn't mean as much to him as it did to her.

She tried to convince herself that he was avoiding her for the sake of his new girlfriend, but soon acknowledged that he could have introduced her as an old acquaintance. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding her.

One October evening, as Rose walked home after visiting a library, she saw him sitting on the dying grass in the park, drawing a homeless man who lay sleeping on a bench, wine bottle beside him. Her temper suddenly boiled over. He could draw pictures of a homeless drunk who most people would avoid, but he couldn't even acknowledge her!

Rose sat down beside him, not caring if he told her to leave. What was she, some plaything he had picked up on the ocean crossing? There was no one there but them and the sleeping drunk. He had nothing to fear by speaking to her.

"Jack," she began. He didn't even look up.

"Look, I know I went back with Mother and Cal on the Carpathia, but I did it for your sake. Cal hated you; he would have found a way to get back at you if I had stayed."

Jack continued drawing, trying to finish his work before it was completely dark. Rose got to her feet, resisting the urge to grab the pencil and paper away from him. Just once, she wanted him to acknowledge her.

"What am I, a toy to be played with and discarded? I thought we had something, but I guess I was wrong."

He picked up the drawing and blew on it, getting rid of the pencil dust. Rose lost her temper. Grabbing the almost-empty wine bottle from the drunk, she flung it against a tree trunk. It shattered, broken glass and cheap wine flying everywhere.

Jack looked up, startled. The drunk glowered at him, unaware of who had disturbed his rest. Deciding it didn't matter, the homeless man put his head back down and went back to sleep, snoring loudly.

Rose didn't wait any longer. Turning on her heel, she ran down the sidewalk, heading for home. She was through being ignored. Jack could rot, for all she cared.

She told herself this, over and over, as she made her way home, but a part of her would always miss him.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

December 1912

Philadelphia

Rose spent most of the next two months at home. She avoided going out, choosing instead to read the collection of books in her late father's library. Jack's rejection still stung, but she had almost convinced herself that she didn't care.

Her relationship with her mother had not improved any. Rose had hoped that at Christmas, a time when families traditionally came together, she and Ruth might be able to forgive each other and start over again.

It was not to be. In the past, Ruth had thrown gala Christmas celebrations, but this year the house remained dark and undecorated. No candles or lights adorned the rooms, and Ruth had not even bothered with a Christmas tree. Rose had always enjoyed the decorations, the carolers, and the sight of the piles of brightly wrapped presents around the tree. This year, however, Ruth seemed determined to forget about Christmas, and she and Rose maintained their silence. Rose attempted to speak to Ruth once, when her mother had taken the time to listen to some carolers at the door, but Ruth had maintained her icy silence, and Rose had not tried again.

Mabel had announced that she was leaving after Christmas, to rejoin her family in Pittsburgh. Rose was sorry to see her go; she had been Rose's only friend for a long time. But Mabel's mother had consumption and needed her, so Mabel had no choice but to leave.

Ruth had been interviewing candidates for a new maid, so Rose had little to do. She had no say in who was hired. She went out occasionally, admiring the decorations that the neighbors had put up, but never left her own neighborhood. Her own house looked barren and stark next to the brightly decorated homes of her neighbors. She listened to groups of carolers on the streets, but never approached them. It was the loneliest Christmas of her life.

On Christmas Eve, Ruth went out with a few friends who hadn't dropped her when she had been forced to leave the ranks of high society. Rose sat alone at home—even Mabel was out, and no one had invited her anywhere. On impulse, she went into the back yard and cut a some branches from a pine tree. Carrying them to her room, she placed them in a bowl of water to keep the sap off the furniture and decorated them with a few pieces of her jewelry. Stepping back, she looked at her handiwork.

The wreath glittered in the light, the gold and gems that Rose had once worn hanging from the branches. Picking it up, she carried it downstairs and set in the middle of the dining room table. She could have at least one decoration in the house.

She went to bed just after midnight, remembering how, as a child, she had sneaked downstairs to see if she could meet Santa Claus. She had always fallen asleep, of course, and once she was older she had learned that Santa didn't really exist. But it had been fun while it lasted.

Rose awoke to her mother's angry voice. Ruth had found the wreath on the table and was loudly berating Mabel for its presence. Throwing on a dress and shoes, Rose hurried downstairs.

Ruth turned away from Mabel and attacked the wreath, yanking the jewelry free and tossing it into a corner. She pulled the branches apart, scattering them across the table.

"Mother, stop!" Rose tried to run to her, but Mabel grabbed her arm and pulled her into the kitchen.

Rose tried to pull free. "What are you doing? She's destroying my work!"

"You can't stop her, Rose."

Ruth heard Mabel's words and came into the kitchen.

"That's it, Mabel. That's the last straw. I've warned you before. Go pack your bags. I'll pay you before you leave." She rushed out.

Rose looked at Mabel. "I'm sorry, Mabel. I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

Mabel shook her head. "This has been coming for a long time, Rose." She headed for the stairs.

Rose went back into the dining room. Ruth was sitting at the table, holding a locket that Rose had put on her wreath.

She opened the locket and looked at the pictures inside. One was of her late husband; the other was of Rose as a small child.

"Rose, darling," she whispered, staring at the portraits.

"Mother?" Rose sat down beside her. "I'm sorry about the wreath. I didn't know you felt that strongly about it."

Ruth didn't reply. Snapping the locket shut, she squeezed her hand around it, tears welling in her eyes. "Rose, why did you have to run off like that? I called after you, but you refused to come back."

Rose put her hand on Ruth's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mother. It was a mistake. Maybe the biggest one I ever made. I should never have taken up with Jack. You were right about him all along."

Ruth didn't reply. Slowly, she fastened the locket around her own neck and went to pick up the rest of the jewelry. Rose watched her, wanting to cry herself.

"Mother..."

Ruth walked out of the room, not acknowledging Rose's pleading voice. Rose could take it no more. Stumbling to her feet, she ran through the kitchen and out the door, not stopping for a coat first. Darting through the icy yard, she ran down the street.

*****

Rose didn't know how long she had been running. She didn't notice when the expensive houses of the upper class changed to the smaller homes of the middle class residents of Philadelphia, or when those gave way to the tenements. Finally, she stopped, realizing that she was in a section of Philadelphia she had only visited once before—at her father's funeral.

Slowly, she made her way down the street. The cemetery was cold and forbidding in the winter weather, the headstones coated with snow. A few bouquets and Christmas arrangements adorned the newer graves. She walked toward it without really knowing why.

As she walked through the gates, she saw a familiar figure walking along one of the paths. Intrigued in spite of herself, she followed Jack.

He was walking slowly, avoiding icy patches with the sure footing of one who had lived a lifetime in cold climates. He was slightly hunched over, one hand tucked inside his coat, concealing something.

Rose walked beside him. Despite her anger at his rejection of her, she hadn't stopped caring, and he looked miserable.

He headed in the direction of a few new graves in a corner of the cemetery. Rose walked beside him, not speaking, wondering who he could have known that was buried there. She had heard that a few Titanic victims had been brought to Philadelphia; perhaps he knew one of them.

Jack stopped in front of the headstone in the farthest corner. He looked at it for a minute, composing himself. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Merry Christmas, Rose."

Rose looked at him, startled. It was the first time he had acknowledged her since they were rescued. "Jack..."

He didn't look up. "I'm leaving tomorrow...going to New York. I have a job there. My art has done real well, and I'll be working for a portrait studio there. Mimi's gone on ahead—she's waiting for me there. I think you would have liked her—she's got a lot of spirit, just like you. I think you could have been friends." His voice broke.

Rose looked at him, puzzled. What was going on? Why was he telling her this?

He looked up at the sky, blinking his eyes rapidly, before looking back at the headstone. His voice was choked as he spoke again.

"I miss you, Rose."

"Jack, I'm right here..."

He pulled out the item that he had carried inside his coat—a small bouquet of flowers. Rose watched as he set them on the grave next to another, larger arrangement. As he straightened, she looked at the name on the headstone. And suddenly, Rose understood.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

December 25, 1912

Philadelphia

_The boat came slowly in Rose's direction. Her limbs stiffened from the cold, Rose tried to move toward it, to no avail. She was too weak. Officer Lowe and a crew member pulled her from the board and into the boat._

_Rose didn't move. Her head hung limply, her eyes closed. Lowe reached for her wrist, checking for a pulse. After a moment, he shook his head, and lowered her back into the water._

*****

Rose stumbled back, realizing. Looking back, she thought of all the clues that something was amiss. She had never understood any of them. Her mother's distant behavior, Jack's refusal to acknowledge her—she had never understood before. But now she did. They hadn't been ignoring her. She truly did not exist for them.

Rose didn't understand why Mabel had been able to see and speak to her when no one else could. Perhaps Mabel had some sort of psychic ability, to be able to see what others could not. Rose didn't know. She had read a few ghost stories, but had never expected to be one. No wonder her mother had been so upset by the wreath.

Jack was walking back down the path, his collar turned up against the cold. His head was down, and he avoided looking anywhere but at the path before him. Rose followed him, not knowing what to do.

She didn't know where she would go. She couldn't go home—she didn't live there anymore. She hadn't really lived there in a long time. Was this what death was—walking amongst the living, seeing what they were doing, but unable to truly participate in any of it?

Another thought occurred to her. People died every day. Why was she the only one who seemed to be wandering around? Were there others like her? Would she ever move to another plane of existence, or disappear entirely?

Jack had reached the cemetery gates. Rose stopped, suddenly reluctant to follow him farther.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she whispered. "I didn't know...I won't follow you anymore, I promise. You have a good life ahead of you...Mimi is a lucky girl." She turned away; then, impulsively, she ran up to him, throwing her arms around him one last time.

He had stopped, wiping his eyes, trying to regain his composure before heading back into the streets. Rose kissed his cheek before pulling away. "I love you, Jack," she whispered. "Good-bye."

He touched his cheek, aware on a subconscious level of what had happened, but unable to understand it. Still, something had gotten through to him, and he whispered, "Good-bye, Rose. I love you," before walking on.

Rose ran back into the cemetery, stopping short when she saw Mabel waiting for her.

"You knew."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would never have believed me. No one does."

"Then there are others like me?"

"Thousands."

Rose looked at Mabel, realizing something. "All those times you jumped at shadows, or talked to someone I couldn't see...there was someone there, wasn't there?"

"Yes."

"Why couldn't I see them?"

"Because you didn't want to. Very few people can see the ghosts walking around—even when they become one." She sighed. "No one really wants to die, no matter how much they might think so. And when someone dies before they are ready, they join the ranks of those haunting every street and hill and house of the world. They're all around, but few people can see them, and most don't understand the signs of their existence."

"Like Mother."

"Yes. Like her. She didn't understand about the wreath because she can't. She only knows that you are gone."

"But why couldn't I see these other ghosts?"

"Because you still believed yourself to be alive, and until you understood that you weren't, you couldn't acknowledge the other dead any more than the living can acknowledge you." She paused. "I think you'll be able to see them now—they're all around you."

Rose looked around and realized that Mabel was right. There were people that she hadn't seen before.

"They don't usually come here—this is a place of the dead, and they don't know that they're dead, too. Once they come here, they don't usually stay long. You're lucky, Rose. You found out in a very short length of time. Some people have been here for centuries, and they'll be here for centuries more, because they have no way of knowing." She stepped in the direction of a carriage that Rose hadn't noticed before. "I imagine they'll be here soon. Good-bye, Rose."

"Mabel, wait! Who will be here soon?"

"You'll see." Mabel climbed into the carriage, ignoring the puzzled look of the driver, who wondered who she had been talking to. "The train station," she told him.

Rose watched as the carriage moved up the street. At a loss, she turned back toward the cemetery, and stopped, surprised, as something soft twined around her ankles. Looking down, she saw her pet cat, who had been run over by a carriage when Rose was six years old. She picked it up, mystified.

The animal had been a bloody mess when it had died, but now it was whole and healthy. The cat purred, rubbing its head against her.

Rose walked toward the gates, and stopped, startled. A bright light obscured them. A figure moved from the light and beckoned to her. She walked closer, recognizing the person.

"Father?" she asked in disbelief. He looked healthy, in his prime, as unlike the thin, wasted figure who had died from tuberculosis three years earlier as could be. He put an arm around her.

"It's time to go, Rose."

Rose looked back one last time. The carriage had turned a corner and was gone, but she could still see Jack in the distance, walking slowly up the long boulevard.

"He'll be all right."

She looked up. "Will I...?"

"...ever see him again?" her father finished for her. "Yes. When his time comes, you'll be there waiting. But for now, you need to come with me. There's another life waiting for you."

As Rose followed him, she saw something in the distance. Titanic stood before her, as whole and gleaming as it had been that first day. She looked at her father questioningly.

"Go, Rose. There's people waiting for you there. And someday, Jack will meet you there. In the meantime, there's a whole world here for you to explore. Go on, greet your friends. And then," he smiled, thinking of what he had seen Jack tell Rose, "meet me at the clock."

Rose smiled and nodded, setting the cat down and throwing her arms around him. Then she ran off, laughing, finally free.

The End.


End file.
